A Gentle Flood
by MissGlasgow
Summary: A few scenes from the early days of Sharon and Andy's romance. My last story was a little angsty, so this is more lovey-dovey and probably closer to a real Shandy scenario.


Sharon pulled closer into the body resting behind hers. It always happens—this late at night, this sated and spent, this in love—her thoughts wash over her brain in the softest flood of affection she's ever known.

Early in the relationship she weighed the similarities between Andy and Jack against the risk of becoming romantically involved with the former. They were both strong-willed, hot headed men dealing with demons and addiction, both with histories littered in damage and broken shards of ruined relationships. Now, of course, the difference couldn't be more apparent. Andy possessed within him a great motivation to make himself a better man. Jack did not. And it was in these quiet moments, under a warm Los Angeles moon, half-dozing and tangled up with Andy, that she shot a quick _Thank you, God_ towards the sky.

She wouldn't trade a thing at the chance to move backwards; Sharon was happier now than she had been in a very long time. But sometimes she thought fondly about the very early days in her romance with Andy. They'd tried to keep their feelings for each other under wraps for as long as they could, so in the beginning, there was the thrill of a shared secret between the two, a nostalgic sense of inside jokes and pinky swears.

In particular, she remembered once in the middle of an investigation, when the whole team was working in the murder room, and Andy finally found some compelling evidence in one suspect's bank records. The whole team gathered around his desk to see the financial discrepancies. When everyone's faces were looking over Andy's shoulder at his monitor, Andy slowly reached a hand back and to the side of his chair to gently stroke the back of Sharon's smooth calf. It was maybe the lightest, most sensual touch she'd every experienced. It wasn't overtly sexual, but it made every hair on her body stand up. The pads of his fingers softly rubbed the sensitive spot under the back of her knee, and he continued to explain his findings to the group as if nothing was going on at all. That was the secret. Andy touched her because he wanted to, and because he knew he was allowed to, all the while maintaining absolute composure. To Sharon, it was the most quietly thrilling sensation, and she felt lucky to participate with him.

Another time, while the two of them were heading down to the morgue, they found themselves alone in the elevator after the only other passenger got off on the second floor. Andy gently took the hand she had hanging at her side, squeezed it lightly, and turned towards her. She smiled up at him with shining green eyes and matched the intense eye contact he returned. He lowered his head to the crook of her neck, hovering just barely above her skin. Sharon could feel the hot breath leaving his mouth, and was convinced she could even decipher the scratch of his stubble. Andy took a deep, slow breath in before landing a soft, long kiss just above her clavicle. He then lifted his head, looked at her briefly once more, stepped away and released her hand as the doors opened to the basement floor. The whole thing lasted less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity to Sharon. That's what made Andy so special; he was so intent on preserving the quiet moments that passed between them, he seemed to be able to make time itself stop.

Even tonight had begun with a gentle gesture that had so come to define Andy's seduction. Sharon wasn't entirely sure he actually had intended to seduce her—their previous nights spent together had felt more intentional. The evening had drug on at an almost glacial pace, neither Sharon nor Andy having really wanted to go to the benefit. For Sharon it was required, Andy's presence was as a favor to her. When they got back to her apartment, they both immediately discarded their shoes and coats, as well as Andy's blazer. He was leaning against Sharon's counter loosening his tie when she reached up to grab two glasses off the middle shelf in her cabinet. The hem of her navy dress rose just high enough that Andy's eyes could relish in the creamy skin on the back of her thighs. He took a quick step towards her, close enough that she could feel him, although he didn't actually touch her right away. He breathed in her hair, and laid a flat palm high on the side and back of her thigh. He barely moved his fingers, just letting the warmth of his hand meet the warmth of her leg as he pushed her dress up another centimeter. The barely-there sensation washed over Sharon and caused her to release the breath she'd been holding since he approached her from behind. She brought the glasses down to the counter and rested her hands on the cold granite, taking a brief moment to feel his fingers splayed on her body.

She turned around into his chest, looked at him quickly and kissed him slowly. They were both tired from the events of the night, and every body part of hers seemed to ache and melt at his touch. Her tongue in his mouth, the small of her back under the weight of his palm, the tension in her neck dissipated under the pad of his thumb. She slowly led him to her bedroom, he slowly unzipped the back of her dress. There wasn't an ounce of anxiety or even anticipation in their lovemaking. It was more like decompressing after a long day at work, like getting a massage or listening to your favorite song. It was like exhaling after being underwater for a minute. Andy made Sharon feel sexy, brilliant, and powerful. But more than anything, he made her feel peaceful. And after spending a lifetime under self-imposed expectations, thirty years under the shadow of a challenging marriage, a career wrapped in antagonism and disdain, and a long night in a painted–on smile and six inch heels, Sharon cherished peace more than anything else in the world.


End file.
